7 comments:

Arriving after several seriously disquieting days, this arrived not a moment too soon. The painted number 3 on the rock intrigues me, but each of O'Sullivan's photos really burns its way inside and reminds me how individual artists' eyes can be. I wish I knew how they could be used in a survey, but I assume that I can read more and find out (if I can tear myself away from looking at the photos). Curtis

I believe the number is on the print, not the rock; though the inscription is indeed fashioned in such a way as to give one pause.

O'Sullivan's notable accomplishments in the field as a war photographer, along with his reputation as a rough-and-ready traveler, qualified him for a series of survey expeditions (artists, botanists as well as geologists and surveyors were included).

The wet-plate collodion photographic process entailed dragging a portable darkroom around the country. Four mules and a wagon comprised O'Sullivan's photographic company. (The soldiers spoke of his mysterious "what-is-it" wagons.) The large glass plates then had to be carried back across the country overland to Washington, where he made prints.

The Wheeler surveys were concerned with Manifest Destiny, whereas the earlier expeditions O'Sullivan made under Clarence King had a stricter scientific objective; that is, to document the geology and topography of the West.

O'Sullivan went through incredible ordeals and labours to create his art.

The scientific and/or imperialistic purposes of the expeditions notwithstanding, what is most striking about O'Sullivan's work in the West is that, like his Civil War work, there are emotional tonalities shot all through his visions of deserts and rocks.

No one has ever filled up the space between a near foreground and a vast distant horizon more completely.

I believe that the large scale landscape photography of recent practitioners like Burtynsky follow directly from the early work of O'Sullivan, Carleton E. Watkins and J.H. Jackson. The processes indeed are similar. But the difficulties are not the same. O'Sullivan did not have the benefit of helicopters, cranes, location scouts, set-up teams or those other substantial logistical advantages which make the Burtynsky operation seem in comparison curiously like a corporate venture.

More detail on the life and work of this great photographer can be found in a very useful biographical article here.

Thank you for all of this, including the article and the explanation of the number 3. As a very good songwriter noted, "ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're trying to be so quiet." I'm going to be spending time with O'Sullivan this weekend. "No one has ever filled up the space between a near foreground and a vast distant horizon more completely." I can see that and also Burtynsky comparison, which is fascinating as you say because of the similarities, as well as the vast differences in the challenges they faced. These are amazing. Hope all is well with you and yours. Curtis

Well, sometimes it feels as though what O'Sullivan is filling all that space up with is nothing but pure loneliness. This so interestingly subverts the ostensible grand patriotic purpose of the mission by investing the images with intense feelings of solitude. That colossal burden of space and scale weighing down upon the lonely human soul lost in the vast bleakness of the West -- you get a good sense of that in these images from his first expedition through Arizona and Nevada with Wheeler, two years earlier:

Yes of course, "heavy grey" still here too, didn't clear yesterday (or the day before) and might well not today either -- but an English sparrow has 'appeared' (which is reason for good cheer -- as is the fact that Johnny is here, asking "why are you still typing). . . .